


Nakama

by Streamsofstoriesandcolour



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC) Spoilers, Canon - Book, Friendship, Light Angst, M/M, Male Friendship, Nostalgia, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28977189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Streamsofstoriesandcolour/pseuds/Streamsofstoriesandcolour
Summary: Regis met up with an old friend Geralt, from decades past while doing a contract "The Beast of Beauclair", where they shared memories of past and devising ways to save Dettlaff from Toussaint's cruel hands.An expansion of a conversation in "Le Cage de Fou"A rewrite of a Fanfiction piece.
Relationships: Dettlaff van der Eretein/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13





	1. Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! If you are wondering why there is a shiny new witcher fanfic I did, it was from my fanfiction account-so I am transferring my stories here, and of course, I have been wanting to do it, but lately, I do not have the time until now. So I take it as a way of growing my writing skills and how it is shaped for the better (and hoping to unblock that irritating writes' block).
> 
> Please enjoy this piece, as usual comments and feedback will be awesome.

Chapter 1: Regrets.

* * *

_Curiosity._

Regis cannot comprehend that human concept, and yet he admired about it. How they figured herbs and spices to create new spirits to tantalise the tastebuds and lead the drunk fellows laying down at the sacred streets. How they admire the heavens, asking themselves many questions of the vast universe. And even more, how man could hold religion with ecstasy and joy.

Despite that he walked the land for many years, he would never know that truth.

As he pondered at the etchings of the ring from the mutilated hand. Memories of the humanist flooded back after these years, A different time, when vampires settled on mortal land, before the Conjunction of Spheres. When the vampires who walked in the new land. They, like Regis himself figuring out how humans behave and their idiosyncratic mannerisms. 

However, the humanist spoke something different. That humans are indeed kind and respectful not feared. And his gaze seems oh so familiar.

_Dettlaff._

Regis thought quietly. 

That thought proves intrusive to his intelligent mind.

_He is too naive. He runs wild with the insecurities in his heart. His anger blinding his reasoning. perhaps extended mortality as a higher vampire does not soften him in that cruel world._

Somehow Dettlaff possessed the same gaze to the humanist.

Based on foggy memories and recollections, A shadowy figure passed through the old castle. Cries of agony as he tried to lift himself from the spartan bed. Days where his fever ran high and he patted him with a towel. His breathing growing laboured to be soothed by herbal tea,

It was only known based on Detlaff’s words that he saw him as a wet smear in the castle, shouldering himself to heal him with his blood. In mortal terms, they are brothers bound by blood.

What is shocking that the ring echoed that bound of gratitude and honour.

**********

  
One evening when Regis have the strength to move around. Despite the healing from Detlaff, Regis felt that human feeling of “dying.” Nothing but blackness and the cold. One moment which he cannot forget in his long life.They decided to walk alongside a long field, with moonlight shimmering at the murky waters get away from these intrusive thoughts.

“Are you recovering well…”

Regis replied silently with a nod.

“What are you planning to do…” Regis did not give much thought but perhaps lead to a quiet life which he longed. 

Regis giggled a little. “We will see what the winds may take me…”

Dettlaff noticed that Regis is holing a beautiful ring on his calloused palm. What attracted him is the motif that echoed their homeland. “It is strange, during a conversation with a little raven of mine. I found this.”

Quietly he slipped that ring to Dettlaff unto his finger.

“What the hell is this-“ 

Regis gave a small smile watching his confusion melt to curiosity. “You know you could have left me in the pile at the castle, but you do the latter-” He observed the sinuous swirls around the band echoing the motif of their tribe. “You have a similar gaze to the humanist. Knowing the truth that not all vampires are cruel and vicious as written in the scrolls or the bestiary by witchers.” 

“I am in debt of your kindness-.”

It seems to be like a whisper in the wind.

“I cannot take that….“ Dethaff protested slightly. “…I….”

Regis gave a gentle laugh to him“I believe that you will keep these ideals, my good friend.“ 

Of course when Geralt wanted to interrogate him on the ring found on the militated hand alongside with the merchant. He becomes numb in speech. All of the feelings become a consuming fountain of horror and agony. After all, his mind is recovering from his “death” when rescuing Cirilla at the Strygga castle assault. Surely his emotions are foliate and violent. 

*********

However, Regis cannot side with loyalties as Geralt was on the hunt for the beast of Beauclair, as a contract from the duchess Anna Henrietta. He felt the pressure to answer her demands on the terror. That was a witcher’s job, always choosing the lesser evil for themselves to get the job done. And Geralt is no exception, with his deep analysis of the crime surroundings, picking through details as if he witnessed the crime himself.

  
He was devoted to Geralt’s clause, out of nostalgia, another human term. How he wished to atone his sin of the past. The senseless drunk orgies of his youth. His solitary life as a healer in Diligent, where he enjoys the status of not being feared by the villagers of his nature. How his nature is shaken by visages of his expedition with the Hansa. He never knew to protest against a maddening village elder. How doubts between Milva and Dandelion, Geralt’s hanse are cleared due to his knowledge of bandaging wounds and boiling herbs to cure all ailments.

However, what stood to Regis is that despite society’s warning that humans and vampires are painted as sworn enemies. That they become close friends.

Regis knew that he must not dwell in the past with Dethlaff for he must help Geralt, not simply for old times’ sake, but a contract that he is assigned to. 

He quietly placed that ring on that table which shone at candlelight. He must know it must be a different time. And what matters to save Detalaff from the damnation and the cruelty to the human world. 

And is to perform Covirnarius’ experiments on tissue regeneration on memory, which was barely glanced by faded manuscripts of old crypts. The only key to save his friend’s humanity and Geralt’s life. _Making the potion Resonance._

He knew he could not dwell inside for long, despite enforcing the stereotype that vampires love living in cold crypts.

***********

As Regis opened the door out to the untamed wildness of Mère-Lachaiselongue Cemetery, names of Toussaint citizens wishing to dictate their lives with humorous epitaphs like dictating their obsession with Gwent or some warning of not listening to their wise words of their mother. Overshot grasses shrouded the eroded gravestones. And trees being the constant companions for the dead. Regis smiled at seeing the raven landing at one of the gravestones which, if he could squint hard is named Luc, and his epitaph goes like “Lebodia held me steady…”

“Hello, my fellow brother ” The calm voice lead the raven to Regis as it landed on his glove, It cawed quietly in anticipation of his master’s call. 

“Nice to meet you, hope you are well.”

Regis found serenity in the most unlikely sources, ignoring the regrets in his heart. The sound of the caws made him feel welcome to the otherwise alien world “I have a little task for you, my little fellow-” Soon he told him about the sources to make the fluid. 

And soon the raven nodded at the words and flew away. Regis prayed that it would not be the erosion of friendships.

For the truth could save Toussaint from chaos, and hopefully Geralt’s.

* * *

**A/N: So this piece is pretty dear to me, as it is the first one I shared on fan fiction (which by now, I migrated here), and I wrote this like 4 years ago. And boy it was atrocious AF Thankfully my writing has changed differently, as I was tiding this piece with my awful uses of dashes and all. I just realised I like to focus on smaller incidents to make the characters feel real. Just a note that Nakama is a Japanese concept of holding your close friends through and thin which fits Geralt and Regis personally, hence the title.**

**BTW Regis is super dear to me, as I love his poetic way of speaking, I did that well, just tidied up for clarity.**

**As usual feedback and comments are so welcome here :) I love to hear for you guys.**


	2. Wormwood and Cinnamon

**Chapter 2: Wormwood and Cinnamon**

_“What is that strange odor?’ Geralt asked suddenly. ‘Do you notice it?’_   
_‘You’re right.’ Said the dwarf, sniffing like a bloodhound. ‘It smells weird.’_   
_‘Herbs.’ Said Percival, sucking in air through his long sensitive nose. ‘Wormwood, basil, sage, anise… Cinnamon? What the hell?”_

_Andrzej Sapkowski. “Baptism of Fire.”_

* * *

Ravens flutter by the skies calling their kind on Regis’ instructions.

_To find the creatures that Geralt mentioned to make Resonance._

It seems not impossible under these clever fellows. Regis thought bemusedly. He wonders if ravens ever feel grief if one of its kind, a sibling or parent, died due to illness or old age. Yes, they will, Regis thought bemusedly as he searched for the particular herb, which he placed the leaves unto his nostrils. Like humans also feel the void of guilt and pain in their mortal hearts which his situation, cruel as the fates be (Despite not believing at human religion and values) where he carried an immortal body and heart. The grief and pain lingered evermore, as he thought of Dettlaff recklessly cutting that hand.

Foggy memories clouded Dettlaff, which he took that martyr duty, then a long shadow pulling whatever remains of him. And spilt his blood to revive a forgotten brethren. 

He owned Dettlaff, his life, no akin to the fearful folks of Toussiant calling him the Beast of Beauclair. A menacing horror prophesied by a paranoid prophet, “Call upon and repent….” That gave him a shiver in his spine.

Regis blinked again.

_Focus on finding the whereabouts of Dettlaff._

He found a raven perching at the gravestone, which he now remembers to fulfil that request.

_For Dettlaff._

Dethaff must be lost in the murky and winding streets of the mortal world. And humans, manipulating the sensitive side, cruel and frightening. Again enforcing the stereotype of vampires hungering the blood of virgins.

Ironically Regis held his paradoxes of vampires enjoying the serenity of cemeteries and living in crypts like the undead.

Regis did not mind the peace of his home ground. Fireflies seem to float by eternally and evanescent illuminating massive graves of Toussaint, which proves an unlikely setting for catching up with old times. 

*****

While on the other hand, Geralt followed his trail, giving him a breather, after the unsettling talk. A pleasant sight from the barking demands of Anna Henrietta, to just wander the names and faces of gravestones,observing Regis speaking his final words for the bird.

Flowery names and epitaphs of the carefreeness of the citizens in Toussaint entertain them with untold tales. Figures of the prophet Lebodia caressed with cobwebs in deep prayer for the souls of the deceased. Regis subconsciously caressed a serene face of her weathered by the elements. Fogs diffusing the harsh glow of the city lights of Beauclair. He seems to fit right in that otherworldly world. 

And that aroma of medical herbs seems to penetrate his body which he could forget their first encounter when Percival, a companion mistaken him for a ghoul.  
It seems silly at first, given that Geralt have his fair shares of the impossible but Regis was perhaps the exception. 

And it was the impossible that last for their prolonged lifetimes, when he recalled Regis, not in his current look with mutton chops and fraying hairs, by a human eye could be mistaken for a Novigard trader. Rather his Dillegen days, where he kept his hair loose with a loose braid, his hand holding stalks of rosemary and sage which, again by human eyes could be mistaken as a rural healer, destined for nomadic life. 

However, the truth was revealed, by accident that Regis lapped on Dandelion’s wounds (He cannot forget the grumbling and moaning by Dandelion over a small graze) and commenting that he taste rather pleasant, which shock the party members. That he is, to his party members, a vampire.

******

It seems that nostalgia ran in his veins, which the sound of caws startled Geralt, along with the flapping of black wings forming a looming cloud.

Great rubbed his chin slightly. When he thought of black birds, he thought of them as signs of leshens coming to the fields, terrible and mad spirits of the forest destroying the paths of mortals.

“In contrary, Geralt you must be thinking of a crow, I suppose you fought them with leshen-” as he watched the bird flew to the skies “These birds are rough, unfortunate guests if you stumbled it alone”

_Seems Regis is all-knowing of the birds in Toussaint._

“A raven. Rather a common sight in this latitude. Very intelligent fowl. I asked him to look for the creatures you mentioned. Him and his brethren-” 

His observations are always as sharp as Geralt’s swords. Regis’ eyes narrowed slightly as he watched that last bird flutter to the skies away from the looming trees “I would hazard that a flock of ravens will spy any said creature faster than any solitary witcher would-” His quip for words dug into his ego. 

_Not a good sight, but he knew that Regis has the best for everyone._

”Will all due respect to your skills my friend” Regis raised a quiet eyebrow, observing the surroundings. It would take a whole for the ravens to comb over the realms of Toussaint

_Perhaps it is a perfect moment to catch up with an old friend. And of course, without any interruption of common foes in that area._

Just a few months back, he managed to clear a particular spot from the Archiespores, to navigate to new vegetation as he wanted to find the medicinal benefit of species of mushrooms, undocumented by scholars of Oxenfurt. And he thought of a cosy corner to talk about heart to heart matters.

With a closed smile, Regis took out a bottle from his herb-scented satchel. Hw slowly swirled the infusion back and forth, watching the particles settles amidst the flickering of fireflies. “It would take some time…Perhaps you’d cared for a sniffler of mandrake-“

_Of course._

Geralt thought, breaking out a small smile “Rarely said no to a sniffler-” Memories of Regis at the campfire with Dandelion wanting to play cards with him. The crackling fire. Cahir sulking miserably at the swampy forest. , Milva tying the strings of her crossbow and Zoltan chuckling loudly. An unlikely family with its weakness and strengths, at last, barely surviving limb and arm, to just relax and have fun. Which of course leads to them being slobbering drunks and strange confessionals.

“Sadly, this is just a weak infusion rather than a proper distillate-” Regis spoke quietly as if disappointed by the mixture he made. He quietly slashed it back to his satchel. However it did not deter Geralt from Regis’ disappointment, rather it is a nice escape from him chasing around corners over The Beast of Beauclair.

Geralt chuckled as Regis took the lead, making himself comfortable amidst the crypts, fireflies and candles lighting names of the deceased. “Even better-” What seems to be haunting and alone. It becomes an unusual source of comfort from the chatter of Toussaint with knightly oaths and vows.

A sniffer, perhaps needed to ease tensions, given their unexpected reunion ‘I still remember your mandrake hooch, makes people say things-“ 

Perhaps a drink makes such great company of all, as they managed to find a secluded corner of a forgotten nobleman and wife, with candles flickering amidst the breeze. Regis passed his sniffer to him.

“Now, what could Geralt of Rivia prefer to keep to himself.” 

_And now he is able to forget that he could be outdid by a flock of ravens._

* * *

**Note:** So hello again! Thank you for all of the lovely comments you placed on A03 for the first chapter within the hour of publishing. I am very touched that you all liked this little story, and revisiting again makes me proud that I wrote much clearer (Of course I focus on breaking up long lines and dialogue which repeats itself for extra clarity.) 

And yes the name of this chapter is referring to an encounter in Baptism of Fire, which is interesting as Regis seems very kind like cinnamon (mmmm cinnamon rolls) and wormwood, while bitter shows his acerbic side, rather fitting for his character.

As usual feedback and comments are always welcome in this area. And stay tuned for more!


	3. Chapter 3: Baptism of Fire

_ “Well,” sighed Regis. “Have it your way. I’ll have to avoid mirrors and dogs, and will have to beware of sorcerers and telepaths… And if I’m still exposed, I’m counting on you.” _

_ “You can count on me,” Geralt said seriously. “I’m not in the habit of leaving a friend in need.” _

_ The vampire smiled and because they were alone, he did not hide his fangs. _

_ “Friend?”-Andrzej Sapkowski. “Lady of the Lake.” _

* * *

Geralt knew Regis’ intelligent wordings to dig out the secrets of witchers only encapsulated in memory of the dead and archives in Oxenfurt assuming it is not faded by time. Hell, he did not forget that drunken party at a random hut which laughter and stories of lifetimes told by the fire. 

Watching Regis easing slightly over the cemeteries, watching over the fireflies flutter slightly in the hazy fog in the warm illuminations of melted candles. His questioning maybe made Regis slightly nostalgic about the past. He swore that not even Dandelion cold capture that experience due to mortal blood. “Everyone’s got some secret-” Geralt joked slightly watching that half-smile of Regis thanks to the infusion. “I agree wholeheartedly, perhaps it is wise to unburden one secrets' for those you trust-” Regis slowly passed the cloudy infusion to Gerald’s hands, looking at the fireflies dreamily “Is it a sophisticated way of asking me if I could trust you.” 

The current regeneration of Regis was so different from the past when he would complain why Milva, Dandelion, and Angouleme used sexual organs as insults. Geralt could recall under his breath, that it was not of good taste. Maybe he would ease the notion that almost every Toussaint citizen use this as an insult. “I prefer almost to ask indirectly. It seems a test of intelligence one you just passed-” Regis pulling his leg slightly with his rather prophetic like words. Hell his appearance could easily blend with Lebodia’s servants.

“Hmm, maybe you go first, reveal one of your secrets, you vampires lead very interesting lives-”

Regis gave that shrug on Geralt’s question, truly that he has a history longer than the existence of witchers themselves. Unlike the lesser vampires who lead on instincts like Fleders, Bruxas, and Ekimmas.There are perhaps many things that Geralt wanted to know. Maybe how they recall happy or sad things. Or if they are powerful in a fight. So many things that could be useful in the future or even now thanks to a spurt of vampires roaming Toussaint.

“Anything in particular interest you-” Regis gave a sip of his infusion. Watching how Geralt’s stoic gaze broke into a warm smile, despite not being as potent as the previous mixtures. It shows another aspect that he enjoyed the sweet company of friends meeting again.

_If one thing that proves to contradict is that witchers do carry emotion, and make friends that last many lifetimes._

“Curious what you did after you were reborn..” 

**************

Regis found himself shivering at the word ‘Reborn.” It was not too long ago (perhaps 30-40 years ago) that he went through the painful process of regeneration. 

When he laid down in his bed, woozy with a fever and blind. Vivid flashbacks came to him.

_How Regis spoke at the darkest hour that it was indeed a baptism of fire._

_The madness of the castle assault, and the cruel laugh of Vilegtroz._

_Moments ago when he lived as a simpler herbalist in Dilligen, painting illustrations of plants with hand-ground pigments. Months when he experimenting with formulas to make brews for residents at the neighbouring village warming their bodies in cold winters._

_The aroma of woods and herbs surrounding him. The smiles of children thanking him for small gifts and even him tying the bunches of sages and rosemaries at the side, watching it swaying it by the breeze._

_That comforting memory with a new body pushed him to take a few steps to collect a few herbs that are surrounded by Dethalff’s hut. He called them by their scientific name and rested it on his bed as a mode of security. Over time he managed to gain his strength but at a price._

“To summarise, I was thoroughly absorbed with recovering, I’ve still not recovered completely, yet I could barely move or walk in the first year” 

What price? Regis’ mind swirled to that thought that Dethlaff is abandoned once he resolved himself to go back to Brugge. He recalled his melancholic expression, something which he may regret in a lifetime.  “Once I can stand unassisted, I set myself off to my one-time home in Dillingen and lead a peaceful life as a healer/surgeon.” 

As Regis walked back to the old hut, familiarity followed him like an old friend. _Maybe he could sleep off without weeping or touching himself to see if he is safe_

“Brugge you said? Rebirth makes you sentimental.”  That sounds so familiar. That is how they met at unusual circumstances at a cemetery (Is it he or the potion is swirling in his mind even more?).  A frightened man, who whispered amidst the rotting corpses of ghouls that he feared for the witchers, as they are hungry like the wolves, carrying their heads as gristly bounty for their horses. Of course, Regis learnt it is a lie made up by paranoid villagers who wish their daughters to stay away from these lusty fellows.

**~~~~~~**

“Perhaps a dash?” Regis spoke dryly. Quickly eh decided to change topic reminiscing the hanse “Remember Milva slowly unveiling her neck in hopes I would suck it…”

“Everyone thinks that vampires are nothing by sexual bloodsucking fulfilling that empty void.” 

Geralt gave that small laugh about Regis’ debate on the meaning of vampires by the campfire, with the rest looking rather uninterested (expect Milva and himself, a professional witcher). For he was not the picture of a handsome man with a swan-like neck, but a humble healer unnoticed by mortals. “Yes, and your passionate advocacy of the misconceptions of vampires, remember that feast with Anna Henrietta-” as he gulped the infusion “Even more amusing than an old lady making a contract to search for their missing pan.”

Regis gave a small laugh as if bemused by his comment. “A Witcher trained for years to hunt for monsters, now becoming an errand boy-”. 

Regis grimaced quietly over the light conversation. Henrietta’s amused expression was a highlight for the evening, unaware that Regis as a vampire. For she grew rather intrigued by his philosophical insights as amusing entertainment than bards who sang out of tune and fire eaters spitting fires by the pit. A happy memory, other than his tryst within certain succubus which, he knows in the moment of time will be the joke for the evening if the ravens never come.

“Speaking about Dandelion, how is your strange friend-”. That ethereal man who sat by the fire penning ballads about the eternal love between Yennefer and him. In fact, Dandelion is thankful that his bandages make him looking like a battle hero. (Of course, he did not expect to rub a certain ego) which he accepted his form of payment with suggestions about how he would like to be depicted in his ballads. 

**~~~~~~~~**

Geralt bemusedly sighed and based on his reaction. It seems that Dandelion got himself into trouble including breaking hearts for Anna Henrietta “As always causing some trouble. Recently I have to rescue him from a notorious underworld leader in Novigrad-“ Geralt took himself to imitate the mannerisms of Djisktera, a man he could not forget, with his cutthroat words and piercing gaze.

“Guess who Regis?

Regis shot him quietly. “Amuse me…”

“A former Redenian spy-Sigi Reuven or some may know by a certain few Dijkstra-” Geralt spoke dryly, tapping the bottle gently, which leads to a soft laugh.

Ahhh to be like the old days, stories told by the fire, and Cahir fighting off sleep after hours of training. “I assume that you have a bad association with him.” Regis passed the bottle to him, and Geralt drank heavily, more than one sip at most. “Yes that time, during a boring ball, when once I kicked him by the shin, causing him immersive pain-” Regis’ eyes widened with amusement on how brutal Geralt can be. It must take balls., as humans speak.

_Shit._

_Why that term._

_Supposed it fit._

Geralt narrated how Dandelion has to rob a vault to pay another underworld leader, Whoreson junior in exchange for Ciri. Which if curse it lead to a generous clap from Regis which is unusual for him.  What Regis recalled about Ciri, yes Cirilla. Then a gangly young lady, still frightened of the elder blood, pursued by The Wild Hunt and the maddening forces of Nilfgrad, embracing him in his vampiric form on the comforting words that he would not hurt her.

“Speaking about Cirlla have you ever find her after the assault at Rivia.”

“Back then yeah-” Geralt’s face turns sombre piecing the memories of the past which thankfully are back. “But we parted soon. But when the time was ripe she came back, defeated The Wild hunt together-” 

“Oh seems I certainly missed quite a lot while I was absent” 

Regis grew sombre knowing he will never see the grown Cirilla. “True enough, but it would be a different conversation for another time-” 

Geralt thought of a question, a philosophical one should challenge the ever-wise Regis. “Need to know about you now-” Regis slowly sipped the little drops of the remaining infusion, watching the candle wax formed rivers in the gravestones. Regis staring at the praying figure seeking salvation for the poor and desolate. And that moment, the mood went sombre as he placed the bottle alongside the fading candlelight.

“…What happens after death-”.

* * *

**Note:** Hey again! Apologies for the delay, as I do not have much time to edit it around (Work got me especially-year stocktake which I have to tidy everything), but boy I cut a lot of what is unnecessary here. Anyway way what you see is that I sued both the TW3 game and the books as memories which some are pretty cute. I do have fun cleaning up this and trying my best to make it more organic!

I hope you guys have a restful month, and always stay safe and well.

Feedback and comments are always welcome here :)


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